The Places Between
by pheonix1
Summary: Post HBP  The dark side of the mirror. Draco is left in London, Harry finds out Godric's Hollow is a tourist attraction, and Voldemort schemes appropriately. -And Snape is Snape.


Some see Strength and strive to beat it,

Some see Strength and long to be it,

Some see Strength as a hand to be led,

Some see Strength and stay three steps ahead.

Which Strength be thyne?

-Song of the Sorting Hat, circa. 1359

* * *

Chapter One - The Main Attraction

Draco eyed his surroundings in unabashed trepidation.

They had apparated here almost directly after the raid, Severus offering his fellow Death Eaters a few terse words before taking Draco by the arm and whisking them away to... to.. -this _hovel_.

And not just any hovel. This particular rat's nest was a derelict flat which was very obviously in the middle of a muggle neighborhood, and not as one of those clever little wizarding homes nestled up against muggle society as a sort of silent rude gesture, either. No, this was an actual muggle dwelling, complete with base contraptions faintly humming with unnatural life and a general reek of alien discord. And perhaps a little of cat.

Draco hated it. With every fibre of his being. The thought of staying here for any length of time was enough to make him hyperventilate.

"Damn it boy, listen when I'm talking to you!"

The light cuff was enough to shake him from his dire thoughts.

"I'm sorry Sir, but it sounded like you were talking about staying here. We can't stay here."

Snape graced him with a look of contempt.

"Don't be stupid. _We_ are not staying here. _You _are. -Unless you'd like to face the Dark Lord with your spectacular failure. I doubt your very limited tolerance for pain is quite up for that."

The slytherin gulped. He had barely survived his marking ceremony with his pride intact but even then, the Dark Lord had not been impressed. Apparently anything short of Potter on a leash, would merely earn contempt without punishment.

"You mean by myself? For how long? Surely, you'll be back-"

The former professor pinched the bridge of his prominent nose.

"-Draco, I know it's difficult for you, but try to understand. You know how our Lord rewards failure. Do you wish that for yourself, or your family? Lucius has only just been allowed back into the fold, and your mother has betrayed him by making an Unbreakable Vow for your safety. For the sake of everyone, including yourself, you need to disappear. -Now, the flat is stocked for a month-"

Draco was starting to panic. Severus was going to leave him here. Alone. Cut off from everyone and everything he'd ever known because to set foot in wizarding society meant either death or imprisonment. He couldn't do this. He couldn't-

"-I can't do this. I _can't_. Take me to Voldemort or just kill me yourself, but don't leave me here!"

Severus shook the trembling fists from his robes with a look of disgust.

"You would scorn the sacrifices that your mother has made, that _I_ am making, simply because your feeble mind cannot grasp the situation? Do you even realize what he's going to do to.. -Don't you dare cry! For once in your charmed life, use the craft you are known for and _get yourself through this _because no one is going to hold your hand! And I daresay it is about time."

Snape had seized him by the shoulders at his tears and now released him with a sneer.

"I no longer have the time or the patience for this. As I've said, the flat is stocked for a month and the rent paid for three. After that, your survival is completely up to you."

He raised his wand to apparate, then lowered it as a second thought.

"Oh, and I suppose there's no need to tell you that contacting any of your former peers or your family will only endanger them and you. Your aunt especially. She's already murdered the last male heir of her line; offering you to the Dark Lord on a silver platter will be well within her capabilities, believe me."

Draco had been choking on his own air for some time now, so it was with little surprise that when Snape plucked the wand from his shaking fingers and snapped it two, he offered no protest save for the hitching gasps he'd since been using to draw breath.

Raising his wand again, the Potions Master looked at the Malfoy heir with something that might have been pity on another man.

"Good luck, Mr. Malfoy. -You'll need it."

The crack of apparition echoed through the flat, but Draco stared down at the broken pieces of his former life long after it ceased.

* * *

"What do you mean you're not coming back? Harry, you _have_ to. Despite what's happened, the school is still the safest place for you, aside from the Dursley's."

Harry frowned. There was no way he was going to be able to get through the next school year. He just couldn't. While he was stuck going through the motions at Hogwarts, Voldemort would be moving. Amassing followers, entreating allies. People couldn't pretend nothing was happening anymore, and there was no way he was going to be tied down to a single location while everyone tried to keep up the facade that everything was ok.

It wasn't ok. It hadn't been for a long time.

"No Hermoine. I can't. There's no way I can be tied down, not with Voldemort moving like he is. You do realize that coming back to school after the summer break means that I'm endangering the rest of the school by making myself a stationary target."

She frowned and looked to Ron for support. He scratched at his neck.

"Harry, you know Voldemort's going to make the school his last stand. He's already got his hands in the Ministry, and until recently he had his hands in Hogwarts as well. The danger's the same either way, but I think our chances are better if we gather our resources in one place-especially a place we know he's going to attack."

Hermoine nodded then looked around the car. She had put up a silencing charm, but still...

"The Order knows about the Horcruxes. We'll tell them what we know and we'll investigate further, but we'll need the library-"

"-You're assuming that they'll actually let us in on an Order meeting." He turned to Ron. "And _you're_ assuming that Voldemort no longer has a Hogwarts connection, which I wouldn't assume on either counts. I know where you're both coming from, and I agree _to a point_; but I _cannot _be tied down. Not now. I'm going to Godric's Hollow, then I'm going after the Horcruxes _on my own._"

Ron leaned forward, using every inch of his superior height.

"Harry, mate, you are NOT doing this by yourself. I think we can all agree on that. Right?"

Hermoine nodded and stared when she saw Harry do the same.

"I never said I'd be doing this _by myself_. I said I'd be looking for the Horcruxes _on my own_. I need the two of you at Hogwarts. There needs to be some major recruiting done for the DA; we'll need all the help we can get to unravel this thing. I have a suspicion that at least one of the Horcruxes is on school grounds and that nearly all of them are tied to the founders in some way. We've _got_ to cover more ground. Voldemort's got an army and I've just got the two of you and the DA-"

Hermoine interrupted softly.

"The Order, Harry. You've got them too. Let them find the Horcruxes-we'll help-"

"I don't trust the Order."

Silence sat heavy in the car at that. Harry hadn't wanted to say it, but after Snape and Mundungus, he really had no more faith in the Order of the Phoenix. Besides, with Voldemort firmly entrenched in the Ministry, there was no telling how far the chain of Imperius went.

"Harry, my parents are in the Order."

That from Ron, who sounded very close to losing his temper. Well, that made two of them.

"Yes, and so was Dumbledore. And Snape. And I bet Pettigrew, too. Dumbledore promised me over and over that Snape was on our side. Trusted him with his life and all that. Look where it got him. -Look where it got my _parents_."

Harry instantly regretted the way his words took the wind out of his friends' sails, but they needed to hear it.

"I want more than anything for it to be some elaborate plot where Dumbledore is really alive and that Snape really is ok and that they're laying in wait somewhere for Voldemort to make his move, but I'm not holding my breath. As long as your parents have contact with the Ministry, there is a chance they'll come home under the Imperius, and that goes for everyone else. That's not a chance I'm willing to take."

Hermoine spoke up next.

"Well, what do we do then? There's no way we can take such a massive undertaking on our own, and the Order has more mobility than we do. And if you think you're going off on your own, Harry Potter, well you can just stop thinking that right now!"

Harry put his head in his hands. Back to square one.

"Listen. I've got an idea, and before you start in on me _just listen_ to it first. You're right about pooling our resources into the school. I feel pretty confident that everyone in the DA is clear of suspicion, but if we can find a way to identify people under the Imperius, that would make me feel better. -In any case, I want to use them, or rather their parents, as my contacts 'in the field'. I know most of their parents aren't connected to the Ministry, and the ones who are only vaguely. I just bet they'll help a Boy Who Lived in need."

Ron and Hermoine looked at each other, then at their friend.

"Harry, that's a stretch. Even if we could get them in on it, that's no guarantee against Imperius, and the more people we get involved, the more likely we'll get a leak somewhere down the line."

"Yeah mate, and how are we supposed to keep up with you out there? Owl post takes at least two days, and there's a chance it'll be intercepted. There's no way I'm letting you go out there with that kind of window. Anything could happen in two days. -Anything could happen in two seconds. It's too dangerous."

Harry smirked and dug into his pocket. He tossed the small device to Ron who caught it automatically. He inspected it for a moment, ignoring Hermoine's 'oh' of realization. He lobbed it back at Harry.

"All right, I give up. What is it?"

Harry flipped it open and brandished it at his confused friend.

"This, Ron, is a cell phone. It allows me to talk to anyone, anywhere, anytime. It's muggle, so I doubt a Death Eater or spy would know what they were looking at in the case they saw someone using it. This one is a very expensive type that uses satellite, -ask Hermoine about satellites later, and in the case that I can't talk, I can use the keys to type out a message. I can send photographs and video too. Um, video is like a wizarding photo only with sound."

Ron looked at the device with a newfound awe.

"As long as someone else has a cell phone similar to this one, they can receive what I'm sending them or even speak with me directly in a matter of seconds. If I supply the DA with these, or even just the two of you, this totally obliterates our communication problem. I can make regular check-ins, and in the event I get captured, they even have GPS, which is short Global Positioning Satellite. -It means that I can be found anywhere on the planet as long as the battery has some life left."

"Hey, it uses batteries! I know what they are. My dad has some."

"Ahem."

Both boys turned to Hermoine who was frowning in an apologetic way.

"Harry, there's a small catch in your plan-although it's very good. You know electronic devices don't work on Hogwarts grounds. Remember Lee complaining about his watch, first year? They'll be useless to us there."

Ron frowned, but Harry remained undaunted.

"Yes, but remember DADA with Professor Lupin? When we were learning about the Bogarts? He played music then. That Phonograph was electric wasn't it?"

"Fono-what?"

Hermoine relfected a moment.

"Actually, I think that was one of the older ones that you have to crank, but the amplifier inside is electric and the turning of the crank actually creates the electricity that powers it. That brings up an interesting loophole, but it's still sketchy."

"Maybe, but it's worth looking into. Wizards have successfully enchanted muggle stuff; things like Mr. Weasley's car and Sirius' bike. I bet there's some enterprising muggle-borns out there that have charmed their phone batteries to never wear out and stuff like that. I've got the twins looking into it-their shop is close enough to Knockturn Alley and I saw some enchanted things in Borgin & Burks. I'll bet they've got underground shops that sell something we can use-or at least know where we can get it. Hey, if your parents have a computer, you might try looking around on the internet."

"The enter-what?"

She hummed thoughtfully.

"Yes, that's actually a good idea. I never thought of using muggle devices like this. It makes sense. Quite a few of the DA members are muggle-born, so they'll know how to use them and can teach the others. It will definitely give us an edge over the Death Eaters. The Dark Mark can only summon, after all."

She pinned him with a glare. "But that doesn't get you off the hook. If we can't get some sort of safety net up by the end of summer, then we're not doing this-which means you aren't going off by yourself. I mean it. We'll think of something else _together_, ok? -Promise me."

Harry swallowed. He didn't bother to tell them that he was going to Godric's Hollow directly after Bill and Fleur's wedding. It was something he had to do alone. They wouldn't understand.

"I promise not to go after the Horcruxes until we've figured something out. -Something concrete. Ok?"

They all shook on it, even if Ron still looked a little behind in the conversation. They spent the rest of the train ride explaining satellites and a very basic concept of the world wide web, which Ron had found disturbing. Harry found it all hilarious, but tried not to laugh.

And for a very small moment, everything really was ok.

* * *

"Master, are you well?"

Voldemort didn't bother looking up. The thin, high voice, always on the cusp of stuttering, told him who the speaker was. He was really beginning to wish the man had been a one-trick-pony instead of one of his most-successful, if not loyal, followers. It was pathetic to have such a sniveling, wretched man in his service, let alone as his right hand, but men who could be ruled so completely by fear were hard to come by. Most, at least, had a certain level to which they would not lower themselves; one small bit of pride that would take death over breaching that last bit of humanity.

He had yet to find such a level in Peter Pettigrew. The depths to which he would sink seemed endless.

"Yes, I'm fine. -And before you ask, no, I do not require anything a house elf couldn't provide. On your way, now."

He found it exceedingly grating, that wheezing, near-whimpering tone.

"Yes, Master. -Of course, Master..."

Still, he couldn't kill the man just because he was pathetic, no matter how badly he wanted to. Who knew when the man would prove useful again? He was not in the business of wasting resources. Even the followers who had failed him were back in the fold. If he killed someone every time they screwed up, he'd have about a quarter of the Death Eaters he had now. -Though considering some of them, that didn't seem like such a bad idea.

Unfortunately, Quality over quantity didn't win wars. Numbers did.

The man shuffled away, bowing and scraping as he left. He had once attempted to kiss the hem of his robes but he had quickly put a stop to it. His excuse was that Pettigrew had procured a place of honor above such trivialities for his essential assistance in his rebirth. The truth of the matter was that he didn't want the man near him. The aura Pettigrew carried about him was... repugnant. _Soiled_. It sounded ridiculous, even in the confines of his own head, but there it was.

Oh, Potter would have a field day. The Dark Lord feeling 'dirty.' He hoped the boy was enjoying his last moments of pain-free existence. It would make it all the sweeter when he took it all away.

Soon. Very soon...

He sighed. He was really starting to wish he had used the Imperius curse on Potter during the Sorcerer's Stone incident. He wagered the little brat wouldn't have been able to throw it off, _then_. And having the stone would've kept him from being indebted to his insipid little rat. That sniveling bond-traitor.

Ah, there was the root of it. The unclean miasma the man seemed to ooze from every pore. It was _betrayal_.

Unlike Voldemort himself, who had tricked, fooled, and coerced, but never broke his word once it was given, Peter Pettigrew was a true Judas. Voldemort hadn't attracted his followers on false promises; he offered action, discipline and a glorious future. Wormtail, on the other hand, had betrayed those who had trusted him. Betrayed those that had showed him kinship. Even betrayed people whom he had never even met.

And he kept betraying them. The boy was one of the few survivors of the man's singular talent, and he would never see justice. Would never hear his Godfather's name cleared. Never know the warmth of the parents he'd lost. Lives silenced and stories untold all because one man had been cornered and feared death to such a degree that nothing was sacred so long as he continued to live.

Strangely, of all the dark traits the human psyche offered, he couldn't find an inkling of admiration for that one, useful as it was.

People who would bend to such lengths that they twisted themselves into something complete unrecognizable were, on the whole, unstable. Unpredictable. If the situation proved favorable, such a man would turn on anyone. Even him. _Especially_ him.

Good thing the Dark Mark was a binding contract, or else he might be a tad bit worried.

He snorted. Or tried to. It was nearly impossible without a nasal cavity, but he overcame. Just like he always did (and without spewing mucus over everything). His newly reinstated body, while much more powerful than the pitiful _thing_ he'd been before, was a lesson in tolerance. He'd hoped the ritual to restore his flesh would have put him to rights in the looks department, but apparently the continued existence of the Horcruxes kept him from being truly whole, just as they were meant to. It would have been nice if someone had documented, however, the little side effect that splitting one's soul had on the body. As much as he hated the fact that he looked very much like his treacherous muggle father, it was far easier to charm when one did not look like something out of a failed polyjuice experiment, and ruling by fear had done nothing for him of late.

Nearly all of his Death Eaters were wanted criminals now, when once they had been promising young men and women of good standing.

He keenly felt the loss. The Death Eaters had once been his peers; wizards on equal footing with proud and noble backgrounds and the awe of the wizarding world. There had been no forced worship, no bowing and scraping. Their reverence had been offered with the utmost sincerity, and who was he not to accept it? Once he had shared an ear with his followers, listening to their ideas, making them his own. There once was a time when no one was afraid to debate with him, to point out a flaw in his reasoning and talk them through, long into the night.

He missed that golden age. With every ounce of his stunted emotions.

Not only were the sons and daughters of his original Death Eaters now on par with common criminals, they were now surrounded by them as well. His numbers now included the dregs of society, creatures bent on petty revenge, uncaring whether bloodlines remained pure, or if magic was kept powerful and segregated from those who could not use it. His closest, most loyal followers were either pathetic or mad, and yet he could not rid himself of them for their devotion. Could not break his own contracts for all his want of a clean slate.

He looked up at beautiful magicked arches of Malfoy Manor, felt the hum of the wards against his too-pale skin, and vowed that the future would not be stained. He would usher in a new era, and the pure of blood would once again be able to wear their names with pride.

It would come to him. He just had to wait.

* * *

Minerva MacGonagall looked down that the pitted and well-worn wood of the massive desk that graced the center of the office.

-Her office now.

She still hadn't brought herself to sit in the chair, nor had she so much as nudged any of the curious devices that littered its surface. It still didn't feel like hers. She hadn't earned it, hadn't strived for it, and yet it was thrust upon her without so much as a by-your-leave. She had known it was a possibility, being Deputy Headmistress and all, but those few times she had sat in for Albus had been easy with the knowledge that he would soon be back to take the reigns; to guide them with his much more capable hands.

She remembered the burnt, shriveled thing that had once been Albus' hand and had to stifle a sob.

His portrait was not yet finished, and she couldn't help but be glad of it. She didn't think she could quite stand seeing his cheerful face so soon.. so soon after...

She slapped her palms against the ancient wood of the desk and took several calming breaths. She couldn't break down. Not now. There was a war to fight and children to protect and by God she would do it or die trying. Now if she could just stand to be in this room. _One step at a time, Minerva. That's it. Just one step until it all becomes right again._

She looked at the various contraptions, carefully touching a few, before edging behind the desk and slowly, ever so slowly, seating herself. There, that wasn't so bad. She had dared touch some of his things (though it still felt like sacrilege), and now she sat in the chair, as she had a few times before. It was tolerable, but still highly uncomfortable. She needed to make this space her own, or there would be no way she could ever stay here for extended periods, let alone work.

Perhaps actually moving things around would do the trick.

She had always referred to Albus' office as a sort of orderly chaos, and it was never more true than now, though it's caretaker was gone, and with him his highly unorthodox filing system. She pawed through the mess of parchment on the desk, finding odd notes that pertained to nothing, grocery lists, and what looked to be a student roster-until she noticed the students were predominately of Slytherin House. Possible Death Eater candidates, then? Bitterly, she noted his exclusion of young Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps because he'd already known his affiliation.

When she saw her name on a sealed envelope deep in one of the drawers, she pulled it forth carefully.

It looked simple enough, red wax stamped with the Hogwart's seal. Her name was written in his painfully familiar quirky script, and besides that, the parchment was unadorned. Wary, but knowing the kind of man Albus Dumbledore was, along with his many foibles, she opened the letter. There was a very brief tingle of magic, when she broke the seal with her fingernail, but that was common enough and harmless.

_Minerva,_

_I have written this missive as a precaution and hope you never read it, but if you are, in fact, reading these words (instead of say, eating a sandwich) then I must assume the worst. I have embarked upon a journey to make a mortal man out of Tom Riddle, despite his best efforts, but I must say I might have bitten off more than I can chew. I will unfortunately have to involve young Harry in this, for it is his best and safest bet in defeating our recalcitrant Mr. Riddle. I can only ask that you extend some leniency to our young Mr. Potter, for his final years within these walls promise to be his most trying yet. He will most likely fall mysteriously absent for days at a time, but rest assured that our esteemed Mr. Lupin will be well on his trail to make sure nothing befalls him. I cannot stress how important it is that you allow him these temporary leave of absences. I wish I could explain all to you, but unfortunately a letter is not the place. If young Harry entrusts this secret to you or endeavors you for help, then by all means do what you can._

_I can only hope he will. However, I highly doubt this secret will be revealed to anyone other than Mr. Weasley or Ms. Granger. Please excuse the three of them in advance._

_You may continue to bar him from Order meetings, for they will no longer affect him. In fact, I encourage it. As has been true in the past, I fear there may be a rat in our midst-but Minerva, I ask that you do not suspect Severus. He has done what he could these last few months, and for that I am eternally grateful. If there is a leak, it is not him, please take my word for this._

She blinked back tears. Even in his death, he put his faith in Severus Snape.

After a moment, she continued.

_-I have not confirmed any such thing, but I have my suspicions. Any part of the Order that has regular contact with the Ministry is a danger, for Tom has many followers, willing or not, entrenched there. Anyone that is acting strangely should be checked for Imperius. Severus has a potion for this. Just add three drops to their tea. I have already infused the lemon drops. Offer them freely._

_A cheery, red glow will tell you all you need to know._

_Now then, let us not dwell so much on what be done, and instead think on what should be. You will have need of three new instructors for the next school year. If I may, I have three candidates, all of which are well-suited to their posts. Their letters of introduction are in the same drawer you found this letter. See to it at your leisure._

Minerva eyed the small mountain of parchment and trinkets with an air of resignation. Why couldn't the letter have been at the top of the pile?

_At the very least you won't be needing a Potions Master. Severus will be taking his old position back as Slughorn has taken his leave of us. And a good thing too! Potions Masters are quite hard to find and insufferably wily to boot. I was hoping he would've stayed longer so Severus could keep teaching DADA, but I'm afraid practicality comes before placation in this case. Give my condolences to Severus, and try to ignore the snark you'll get for it._

Wait. Three instructors? If Albus believed that Severus would still be teaching, then why would they need a third? She quickly scanned the rest of the letter.

_Well, that's it I suppose. You may, or course, hire whomever you deem appropriate for the empty positions, granted you make the necessary recompense. It's your show now, and I know you'll carry on as you usually do; with poise, and grace, and indomitable spirit. Remember that I am on a great adventure and wait to tell you all I've seen, so don't fret. It doesn't become you._

_-A. Dumbledore._

She stared down at the parchment and blinked. Strange how the man could both soothe and aggravate in the same line. For a very brief moment, Minerva MacGonagall hated him. Hated him for his unshakeable belief in lost causes. For what they cost him—what they cost them all.

Then it passed, and suddenly there was a reason to desecrate the eccentric untidiness around her. No new Instructors were setting foot on the grounds without her explicit approval. Digging for the documents mentioned in the letter, she finally found the focus she so desperately sought. Here, she had purpose. Trinkets slid from their accustomed spots as they parted before her determination, and she did not acknowledge their sanctity. There was far too much to do and far too little time to waste in mourning.

Hogwarts would survive. She would see to it. It was her duty, her right, her sacred privilege.

And woe be unto the fool who thought to take it from her.

End.

A/N: Whoa. This has been on my hard drive since the release of the Half-Blood Prince (the BOOK, not the movie). This is how I imagined the last book would be. (Even as I love how the last book went.)


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